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Game of Thrones: The Sword King
Game of Thrones: From Deserter to Power
Game of Thrones: King of Harrenhal— Garth Greenhand Stat Panel
Corleone's voice was full of provocation as he spread his arms, as if painting a grand blueprint in the air. "Under your rule, Flea Bottom will no longer be the chaotic mess you remember."
"The streets will be swept clean, order will be strictly enforced, and any thugs who dare to cause trouble will face the harshest punishments. It will become the safest place in all of King's Landing!"
"Imagine it, Your Grace!"
He continued to seduce the boy king with his words. "When you grace the newly transformed Flea Bottom with your presence, walking upon pristine streets, your subjects will line the way, offering you cheers that sound like crashing waves!"
"It will be the greatest feat in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. Something even Aegon the Conqueror could not achieve will be accomplished under the reign of King Joffrey the Great, the First of His Name!"
"You will prove to everyone that under your rule, even the darkest corners of King's Landing can be cleansed and brought back into the brilliant light of royal authority!"
Corleone's bewitching words were like the sweetest poison, completely filling Joffrey's vanity.
Especially that line—"something even Aegon the Conqueror could not achieve"—carried immense lethal power.
For a boy king of fifteen, whose mind was far from mature yet who held supreme power (and was missing a few screws), there was absolutely no resistance to such a beautiful vision.
His breathing quickened, as if he could already see the history books listing Joffrey Baratheon alongside—or even above—Aegon the Conqueror in glory!
"Wonderful... absolutely wonderful!"
"This idea of yours is truly magnificent, Vi..."
He pointed at Corleone, his tone urgent but still carrying that habitual, condescending frivolity. "By the way, what was your name again?"
Hearing this, Corleone couldn't help but roll his eyes internally.
I've been talking for ages, wasting all this spit, and you haven't even remembered my name?
This IQ...
Inbreeding really kills people.
But aside from being love-struck fools, why are his younger siblings completely normal?
Thought-provoking.
While swiftly roasting the king in his mind, Corleone's expression remained impeccably respectful. He bowed slightly. "Vito Corleone, Your Grace."
"Vito... Corleone!"
Joffrey repeated it loudly, his sharp voice almost echoing through the entire Tower of the Hand.
"Good! I shall remember you!"
"If you can truly achieve everything you've said, and turn that cesspit Flea Bottom into a place worthy of a King's presence..."
"Joffrey the Great, the First of His Name, will personally knight you, grant you lands and a title, and give you your own family sigil!"
This promise was heavy indeed.
For anyone else, they would probably be incoherent with excitement right about now.
After all, in Westeros, where birth determines fate, it is harder than ascending to the heavens for a person to truly jump social classes. Becoming a knight was already an unreachable dream for the vast majority of commoners.
Let alone being personally knighted by a King, granted lands and a title, hereditary forever.
However, facing Joffrey's generous promise, Corleone felt nothing in his heart—in fact, he kind of wanted to laugh.
A Knight?
The title was useful, certainly, but it depended on who bestowed it.
If one were knighted by the Sword of the Morning or someone truly great like Barristan Selmy, the recipient would share in that glory and be respected.
But Joffrey Baratheon...
Seven Hells. Even if the boy dared to grant it, Corleone probably wouldn't dare mention it to anyone in the future. It would be the biggest black mark on his record.
Just as Tyrion evaluated in the original books:
The history of the Seven Kingdoms has seen foolish kings and mad kings, but a king who is both mad and foolish is a first.
If he had to carry the title of "Knight of the Mad Fool King" in the future... Corleone shuddered just thinking about it.
Although he cursed inwardly, his face showed just the right amount of overwhelming gratitude. He bowed again, his voice incomparably sincere.
"Thank you for your trust and generosity, Your Grace."
"To share the burden of the Royal Family and contribute my meager efforts to your great cause is already my highest honor. I would never dare ask for any other reward!"
This attitude of deep gratitude was extremely pleasing to Joffrey.
"Hahaha!!!"
He turned to Tywin, laughing loudly like a child who had just received a favorite toy, eager to show off. "Did you hear that, Grandfather!"
"I will be the greatest King the Seven Kingdoms has ever seen!"
"I will surpass Father, and even surpass Aegon the Conqueror! History will remember that moment. Perhaps people will call me Joffrey the Saint!"
"That's right! I will order men to tear down the statue of Baelor in the Great Sept and build a larger, grander statue of me. Preferably cast in gold!"
Watching Joffrey's triumphant display, a wave of disgust rose in Tywin's heart.
Childish, shallow, arrogant, swept away by a few empty words... this utterly foolish behavior, coupled with the bloodline that brought shame to the family...
"I have never questioned your potential or determination, Your Grace."
Taking a deep breath, Tywin remained outwardly calm, just like Corleone. He looked at the boy peacefully and spoke slowly.
His tone betrayed no emotion—neither agreement nor opposition. It sounded more like a formulaic appeasement born of status and saving face.
However, he cleverly avoided the topic of "Greatest King."
Perhaps even Tywin found that title too disgusting to utter.
Hearing even the renowned Tywin Lannister praise him, Joffrey grew even more smug. He thought to himself that listening to Lady Margaery and occasionally raiding the Tower of the Hand yielded unexpected rewards.
Perhaps in the future, he could cut down on those unnecessary "little games" and come to the Tower of the Hand more often to listen to state affairs.
Hmm... pity it's so far away. Even sitting in a litter is tiring.
Why not just order men to tear this place down and build one near my royal chambers?
The King, with his smooth brain, always thought about problems in simple and crude ways. But just as he was seriously considering tearing down the Tower of the Hand to rebuild it, Tywin spoke again.
"However, Your Grace."
"Restoring order to Flea Bottom is certainly important, but I believe that for an excellent King—a ruler dedicated to establishing an eternal legacy—the most important duty should be ensuring the continuation of the dynasty."
The Hand spoke at a measured pace, giving Joffrey no time to continue immersing himself in fantasy, bluntly changing the subject.
He had truly had enough of Joffrey's harassment. To put it colloquially: his allergy to idiots was acting up.
"Your wedding to Lady Margaery is imminent. At this time, you should find the Master of Coin and understand the various arrangements and budget for the wedding in detail."
"After all, this concerns the face of the Royal Family."
He spoke very naturally, his tone taking on the air of an elder instructing a junior. "A grand, luxurious wedding befitting a King's status can demonstrate our strength to the Seven Kingdoms."
"The solid alliance of House Lannister, Baratheon, and Tyrell will strike fear into our enemies. This is conducive to winning the war."
"Conversely, if it is too shabby, it will arouse criticism from the nobles, who might think our power is declining."
His reasoning was sound. Even though the lecturing tone annoyed Joffrey, the boy could only grit his teeth and nod.
Corleone took all this in without batting an eye, understanding clearly.
This old fox...
In just a few words, he had cleverly tossed the hot potato that was the "Mad Fool King" to his dwarf son.
Although Tywin had always disliked, even refused to admit Tyrion was his son, doing this was still a bit... unkind.
It was foreseeable that poor Tyrion would now face endless harassment from a King nitpicking wedding details and coming up with whimsical ideas.
After all, probably not even the Seven could predict what bizarre notion this erratic, strangely-wired "Emperor for the Ages" would come up with next.
Sure enough, the Great Emperor was successfully led astray by Tywin's words.
"That makes sense, Lord Tywin."
He stood up, a twisted smile appearing on his face. "But it doesn't matter. If that damned dwarf cannot make the wedding unprecedentedly beautiful, I will order Ser Meryn Trant to cut him in half at the waist for treason!"
"Then the Halfman will become the Quarterman! Hahaha!"
Saying this, Joffrey laughed unscrupulously. However, the joke didn't seem funny, as no one present laughed except him.
Although Tywin disliked his dwarf son, he never mocked him in front of outsiders for the sake of family honor.
If the Hand didn't laugh, who dared to laugh?
Even Meryn Trant clenched his jaw, looking like he was struggling to hold it in.
After a while, seeming to feel a bit awkward, Joffrey found it boring and gradually stopped smiling.
"The wedding is naturally important, but the construction of the free fighting arena must also be done as soon as possible!"
He cleared his throat, trying to salvage his face as King, and said toughly in a commanding tone, "Lord Tywin, I want you to fully assist this..."
"Vito Corleone, Your Grace."
"Ah... right!"
Joffrey pointed a finger at Corleone. "Get it up and running in the fastest time possible. When the time comes, I want to go there with my Queen to observe and accept the worship of my subjects!"
With that, the King seemed unable to wait to go "plan" his wedding.
Ordering the servants to lower the litter, he sat down unceremoniously. "Go! Let us see if my knee-high uncle is exhausting himself for the King's affairs, or fooling around with whores!"
at the King's command, the litter was slowly lifted. The two servants turned and walked toward the door.
One had to say, their technique was excellent. When passing through the doorway, they specifically squatted down to avoid bumping the noble "Royal Head" against the frame.
But watching this scene, Corleone couldn't help but feel it was a bit ominous.
Why does it look more and more like a funeral procession...?
No wonder you died so early. Can't really blame Stannis for that one, Your Imperial Majesty.